


red sky at morning

by kyu (dazaicat)



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: 'they' pronouns for MC thats how we roll, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Pining, Soulmate AU, Unrequited Love, and MC doesnt have a name bc ill die before i do anything properly in my entire life ever, eventual angst, freaky dreams, no it's not hanahaki it's worse, shitty flower metaphors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-22 01:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazaicat/pseuds/kyu
Summary: "a person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it," the cards told asra."bold of you to assume i believe in destiny," asra told the cards.spoiler? the cards were right.soulmate au.





	red sky at morning

**Author's Note:**

> ok ok ok so this is like. a soulmate au, as stated, which starts off vaguely canon and then takes a hard left. at this point in the story, asra/mc and julian are meeting for the first time; soulmates are a thing but not _that_ much of a thing for most people, except asra is obviously special. death will happen (ill tag it), pining will happen, fluff and angst will, hopefully, happen, and mc will find their soulmate along the way too, i promise.
> 
> (shitty unbetaed child 'o mine...)

“Asra!”

Asra turns, blinking at the sudden bright light spilling across his vision. MC stands in the doorway, backlit by the midday sun and practically bouncing with excitement.

“Are you done yet?”

Sighing, Asra smooths down the pages of the inventory book and sets it on the counter next to the pile of crystals he was documenting. Truthfully, it’s incredibly boring work, and he’s glad to have a distraction.

“I’m afraid some of these defy categorization,” he laments. “I might need to come up with a few new sections. What’ve you got?”

MC bounds up to him and leans over his shoulder to peer at the book. This close, Asra can feel the warmth of an afternoon spent outside in the hot sun; it seeps into his skin when MC hooks a chin over his shoulder and rubs their nose.

“I’ve finished the sigils on the doors and under the windows, but you might want to check those just in case. There’s also a small lot I’ve found outside, some flowers—”

“Flowers?” Asra raises his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah, who would’ve thought? You’d think they’d have died by now with no one to water them in this heat, but I guess nature has its ways. I’ll have to identify the species later, see if there’s anything useful to us.”

Asra hums and leans back into MC’s touch. “I suppose I should get these sorted soon, then. Wouldn’t want to slack off when my apprentice is working so hard.” The teasing is warm and easy; sometimes, Asra surprises himself with just how _simple_ being with MC is.

MC rolls their eyes and steps away, a hand still on Asra’s shoulder. “Let me know when you’re done. I’m hungry, and I’ve heard there’s a good bakery around here somewhere…” They sniff, and Asra laughs.

“Will do.”

 

* * *

 

It’s late afternoon when Asra finally lets MC drag him out into the city, putting up only token resistance. The sun has subsided somewhat; the heat still rises off the cobblestones, but it’s no longer as unbearable as it was when they arrived. The city practically hums with _magic,_ alive and vibrant and resonating with Asra’s own. He wonders if MC can feel it, too.

MC tugs at his sleeve, jerking him out of his musing and dragging him over to a small bakery. The smell pulls Asra out of his reverie entirely; warm and spicy, and absolutely _divine_.

“Found it,” MC crows, and drags him inside.

The baker looks up at their entrance.

“MC, was it?” His smile is open and friendly, and some of the customers look over at his exclamation. “We heard you might be arriving today. Here, you must try this—” MC blinks as the baker lifts an entire loaf out of the oven, and cuts a thick slice. The smell of cinnamon and pumpkin wafts through the air. Asra shifts.

“Ah, we can pay,” he begins, rummaging around for his bag of coins.

“Nonsense,” the baker grins. He wraps a napkin around the slice before handing it to MC and cutting another one. “Here, give it a taste. And who might _you_ be?”

“My name is Asra. You could say I’m a magician of sorts.” The bread is pushed under his nose and Asra feels Faust stir in the folds of his scarf at the smell.

“A magician, eh? Not too many of your sort around here. Well, not since…” the baker trails off, and gestures vaguely with the bread knife. “A fellow used to live two blocks down. Really sweet, helped me with these every now and then.” The baker spreads the fingers of his free hand in demonstration.

Asra hands the bread off to MC and stretches a hand of his own out. “Mind if I take a look?”

The baker hesitates a beat before setting the bread knife down and holding out his knuckles. MC peers at them curiously.

Faust pokes her nose out of his scarf when Asra lets his magic rise gently to the surface, radiating from his wrists down to his fingerips and thumbs when he gently brushes them across the scars. As the magic sweeps across, they vanish; revealing smooth and unharmed skin behind. The baker beams at him.

“Ah, I forgot how nice that feels. Here, I’ll let you have the rest of this as thanks.” The baker ignores Asra’s assurance that no thanks is needed, and wraps up the rest of the loaf for MC. Who, Asra notices, has already managed to finish their slice and is eyeing Asra’s consideringly.

“That is very kind of you,” MC grins, and takes a bite out of Asra’s slice right in front of him. “Thank you.”

“—Hey!”

“Well, we better get going,” MC quickly interrupts. “Places to go, people to see.” They gently push Asra towards the street, aiming their sun-like grin at the baker. “Bye!”

“See you two around, then!” the baker calls after them, and then they’re back in the busy and sunlit pathway.

“Thank you for the bread!” Asra calls back, just to be polite, and then narrows his eyes at MC. MC blinks back at him in full innocence. They take another bite out of his bread, and Asra rolls his eyes.

“You can have that. There’s more than enough for both of us in that bundle.”

“I was joking,” MC pouts, and unwraps the rest of the bread. “Here, I’ll cut you some. You’ve got to try this, it’s _delicious.”_ They pull out a switchblade seemingly out of nowhere, and manage to cut a hunk with incredible dexterity. “Here.”

The bread, when Asra finally gets to taste it, tastes like _home._ It’s rich and filling, sweet pumpkin with a hint of spice, and Asra immediately knows what their favourite guilty pleasure is going to be, living in this little city.

The street is full of people; shopping, and gossipping, and looking over to them with friendly and open faces. The sun is already going down, painting the town in shades of orange and molten gold, and MC smiles at him easy and satisfied when they take his hand. “Time to head back?”

“Home, then,” Asra agrees. They head back.

 

* * *

When they make their way back, the sun is already painting the sky shades of purple and red. Asra blows a wisp of magic towards the lantern by the door, watching the flame flicker into existence to illuminate the shop sign.

 

“Do we really need that?” MC squints. “Not like anyone will be visiting us at night.”

“Maybe,” Asra laughs. “Can never be sure, can we?” He traces his fingers over the sigils MC inscribed on the door, watching the dormant magic flare in response to his own, before pulling the door open.

The shop is silent when they enter, air a few degrees cooler than outside. There’s something comforting about the place; even though it’s the first day they’re actually moving in, it already feels like their home. Asra wonders if it’s MC’s presence that makes it so. MC does have a tendency to make him feel welcome.

“Sleeeeep,” MC intones from the staircase. “Asra, no, put those down. It’s time to sleep.”

Asra guiltily sets down the rocks on the counter he drifted over to and smiles sheepishly up at MC. “So early? Ah, but we do have a long day tomorrow…”

At MC’s inquiring head tilt, Asra elaborates. “The Countess has requested our presence at the palace, so I guess we’ll be waking bright and early for that.”

MC squawks. “We?! Asra, you’re only telling me this now?”

Asra runs a hand through his hair and smiles. “Kind of slipped my mind. I’ve been a little busy having a great time with a certain someone.”

MC glares at him, but theres no heat in it when they let him pass into their little room on the second floor. “All the more reason to sleep, then. Can’t have you falling asleep on the Countess.”

Asra’s eyes widen. “No, I suppose we really can’t. This one’s mine, then?”

MC shrugs, and sprawls on the other bed. “Sure.”

Asra watches MC roll around lazily, something fond and warm blooming in his chest. When MC rolls off to wash their face and change, he quickly averts his eyes to focus on his own fastenings; when they wave their hand to dim the lights to a barely-there glow and whisper a goodnight into the hushed air, Asra lets himself drift off to the rapid beat of his own heart and the sense of _belonging_ enveloping him.

 

* * *

_He dreams._

 

_He can tell he’s dreaming by the strange quality of the light around him, not-quite-dark but not-quite-twilight, dripping across the landscape even as everything feels veiled in shadow. He looks up._

_The moon is high and bright in the sky. It’s full and clear; casting a silver glow across the expanse in front of him. It’s sand, miles and miles of it, stretching as far as the eye can see. Nothing moves._

_The moon calls to him, and he walks towards it. There are no landmarks on the horizon, but something calls for him to keep **moving,** so he does, barefoot on the cool sand. _

_Soon enough the landscape suddenly shifts. Pale white flowers poke through the sand, unfurling and glowing in the mooonlight. They have no scent, but Asra can identify them by their petals. Dahlias._

_The wind shifts, too, all of a sudden, and Asra feels a rising creeping sense of **wrongness** welling up. A few moments ago, there was no wind; but now he can feel it cool on his skin, insistent, warning. _

_Then he smells it._

_The wind brings with it a smell of heavy copper, and Asra can already tell he’s not going to like what he sees. He looks down anyway. The white flowers drip with blood, writhing across the previously-still landscape, thick red painting the petals crimson and dripping off the stalks to soak into the sand. They crawl like—like **bugs,** Asra realizes—then the flowers morph into beetles, red and clicking and relentless, and the wind whips up into a gale._

_Asra’s mouth opens on a silent scream before he realizes it’s a better idea to keep his mouth shut, and a whole storm of blood-red beetles engulfs him whole._

 

* * *

Asra wakes with a choked-off scream.

 

After the dream it takes a while for the waking world to filter back in. He opens his eyes to warm sunlight instead of the cold and unforgiving shine of a blood moon; nothing creeps across his face besides his own messy hair.

He’s convinced it was the dream that woke him up when a pillow hits him directly in the face.

“ _Asra!_ ”

MC stands framed in the tentative early-morning light, one hand on their hip and another threateningly clutching a second pillow. There is far too little sunlight, and MC is far too _awake_ for such an hour—Asra groans, but starts kicking off the blankets anyway before he can attract any more of MC’s ire.

MC reluctantly lets go of the pillow and steps closer at Asra’s compliance. They pick at one of their sleeves, and frown.

“You didn’t give me much notice, so I’m afraid this is the best I have. Think the Countess will judge me too much if I show up like this?”

Asra groans and flops back into the pillows.

“You look good. Incredible, even. Must I be awake at this hour?”

MC rolls their eyes and stops picking at the sleeve of their sheer blue tunic. “If you’d rather sleep, be my guest. I suppose I’ll show up at the palace by myself, will I?”

When Asra finally liberates himself from the blankets to splash some cold water on his face, MC busies themselves pulling scrolls and pouches of herbs from their packed belongings. His interest piques, the haze of sleep finally lifting somewhat.

“What is that?”

“These?” MC pauses, and lifts a scroll in question.

“No, that,” Asra gestures. There is a red flower pinned to the button in MC’s tunic, fresh and tauntingly _familiar._ MC shrugs at the question.

“Oh, this… I went to water the plants while you were too busy snoring. Found this. Don’t remember seeing it yesterday, so maybe it bloomed overnight. Why?”

Asra can’t help the feeling of unease that swells in his gut at the flippant answer. There’s a lingering sense of _wrong,_ a reminder of a moon and an endless desert that surfaces just for a moment before Asra shakes his head to dismiss it.

“I see. I’ll be ready in a bit, I think. Don’t suppose we’ll have some time for tea?”

MC rolls their eyes again, but this time it’s fonder. “I made you a pot. Your favourite, even. It’s downstairs.”

Asra wonders if that’s a subtle dig at how much they have left to sort out before they can finally call the shop operational.

“MC…”

“Hm?” MC says, attention already back on the scrolls.

“…Nothing. You’re so kind to me.”

Admissions like that are rare between them, and he can feel the surprise in MC’s shift from across the room.

“It’s just tea, Asra,” oh, he can _definitely_ feel that MC is flustered now. “Might want to drink it before it gets cold.”

He lets it go at that, and shrugs on another scarf to make his way downstairs.

“—There’s also ginger cookies! Whatever’s left is for you!” MC calls after him. He feels a smile coming on; warm, and fond. Of _course_ there are ginger cookies.

 

* * *

When they finally leave for the palace, the sun has finished extending its shy fingers across the sky and started slowly preheating the cobblestones to baking temperatures. Asra takes a sniff of the morning air. It smells like the usual; a strange hint of sea salt, fresh bread, greens, clean stone, and above that so much _life life life_ it almost makes his head spin. It smells like a place he could make _home,_ and he remembers thinking that the day before, but somehow waking up here makes him feel it more acutely than just visiting did. He tells MC this.

MC hums. “I think I know what you mean. There’s a lot of latent magic here, isn’t there? I wonder where it all comes from.”

“Surely magicians have lived here before. You heard the baker. It’s strange, though…”

“Strange?”

Asra makes a gesture with his shoulder. “You know. You’d think there’d be at least _someone_ like us left.”

“I wonder what made them all leave, then,” MC muses. There’s something sad in it Asra can feel, a sympathetic note he thinks he shares.

“Well, we’re here now,” he says, and glances over to MC. He reaches a hand out, and—in a tiny shock of surprise he can never unlearn to feel—MC takes it to swing their linked palms between them. “I don’t think we’re going to leave quite so easily.”

MC gives his hand a squeeze in assent. “I hope so.”

They keep walking, and the guards let them past after one look at Asra’s outfit and the familiar wrapped around his neck. They look a little more closely at MC, seemingly in recognition, but say nothing outside of relaying that the Countess is awaiting their presence. They continue.

The castle looms above them in a sea of gold and spires and dazzlingly bright glass. Asra squints up at it, before he gives up on trying to make anything out and motions towards the gates. The guards here, too, say nothing, and neither do the servants, and for a moment Asra thinks it may be a test of sorts, before an exuberant bundle of orange hair almost barrels into them.

“Oh, so sorry, I was going too fast!” The bundle of orange hair straightens and resolves into a girl who reaches just under Asra’s chin. She claps her hands together. “Now, you’re the magician Asra, yes?” He takes a bit too long to reply, disoriented, and she takes it as her cue to turn to MC. “And you must be MC!” She crows. MC nods in agreement.

“Right, sorry I’m late, something came up at the kitchens…” she trails off with a pout, and then remembers the conversation. “…Anyway, I’ll be taking you to the Countess for an introduction. I hope you like tea?” She grins winningly at both of them, and something tense and anxious in Asra uncoils a little.

“That would be lovely,” MC answers for him. “Lead the way.”

“I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage,” Asra interrupts.

“Ah, how could I forget…” The girl bobs her head in apology. “I’m Portia, attendant to the Countess herself. You can let me know if you have any questions, or need anything—”

“We’re good for now,” MC grins, and Portia answers with a tentative but bright smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Portia.”

“Well then,” Portia says, and claps her hands together again. “Let’s go?”

And so they go. Portia takes them up a grand staircase, and then past a set of lavishly-furnished rooms, into a reception hall of sorts. Asra’s heart jumps a little when he recognizes the long tyrian hair of the Countess.

“Ah, Portia, I see you’ve arrived.” The Countess turns to face them, and raises an elegant eyebrow. “And you’ve brought my guests. I can’t thank you enough.”

Portia mumbles something indistinct and curtsies. “My Lady.”

MC steps forward, and then pauses, looking to Asra for guidance. He bows.

“Asra, practicing magician and part-time card reader, at your service, Lady Satrinava.”

Her eyes widen, but she extends a hand with grace. “My, it’s not often I hear that. Since we’re in friendly company, I’d much rather you called me Nadia.”

Asra touches his palm to her colder and smoother one, and smiles. “Nadia, then.” The informality feels slightly strange on his tongue, but he’s also no stranger to friendliness.

She regards him with a shrewd gaze for a beat and then turns her attention to MC.

“Uh, MC, My…Lady? At your service,” MC fumbles, and Asra can feel the corner of his mouth creeping up despite his efforts. If MC had a little less restraint, he thinks they’d be mouthing at him right about now, _what do I call her, Asra????_

Nadia seems equally amused, and offers her hand. “Nadia will do. I admit, I’ve heard quite a lot about your relatives…not ideal circumstances, of course, but I suppose some things fate chooses for us.” She rests her palm in MC’s a beat longer than she did with Asra, and smiles. “I have high hopes for you both.”

She gestures to two places set opposite her, and reaches for a teapot still steaming between them. “Tea?”

Asra nods politely and holds a delicate porcelain teacup out, and the Countess pours a light amber liquid out. Asra gives it a sniff, and then sips delicately.

“Lavender,” he says, absentmindedly.

The Countess hums in agreement. “I’m afraid I have had to resort to more… _herbal_ concoctions as of late.”

Asra looks up, curious. “Of late?”

The Countess looks for a moment like she’s considering elaborating, and then like she’s made a choice. “Bad dreams, I fear. Nothing more substantial.”

She sounds wistful, and part of Asra wants to probe for more information. He refrains. “Sounds harsh.”

“It is, isn’t it?” The Countess takes a sip of her tea and closes her eyes for a moment. “As Countess it seems to be my duty to always be in good shape.”

“I’m sure you’re in very good shape, my Lady,” MC adds, teasing another smile out of the Countess. “Uh, I mean, Nadia.”

The Countess hides her smile with the rim of her teacup, and takes another sip. “Maybe so. You look hungry.” Asra didn’t expect her to pick up on _that,_ but it seems like nothing escapes her shrewd gaze, “I have it on good authority that these pastries are fairly exquisite. Not quite like back home, but…” She trails off meaningfully with an elegant shrug. “Is anything ever? Regadless, you should try these. I hope you’ll find them to your liking.”

She spears a complicated-but-delicious-looking swirl with a two-pronged fork in what seems like encouragement. Asra lifts his own, ready to spear a bite for himself, when the Countess reaches over the table to hold the pastry in front of MC’s face.

“Go on, then,” she smiles. “Try it.”

Asra averts his eyes so he doesn’t burst out laughing at the scandalized and somewhat horrified look on MC’s face.

“I, uh, _thank you—?”_ MC stumbles, just to be cut off mid-sentence. Asra can bet it’s somewhat related to the Countess shoving the pastry into MC’s mouth.

“How is it?” the Countess asks, with concern that sounds at least somewhat fabricated. When Asra allows himself to look over, he almost doubles over again at MC’s boiled pufferfish imitation. MC looks miserable, so he restrains himself.

The Countess waits courteously for MC to swallow, spearing another bite with her fork.

“Good,” MC finally manages. “ _Very_ good. Thank you. I—”

“Another?” The Countess asks, a smile ghosting her lips, and raises the fork again. MC look like all they want is to hide their face and open a portal through the floor, but then they look up and nod. Asra applauds their strength of spirit, and seemingly, so does Nadia, because the ghost of a smile becomes a very solid, full-fledged smile when she feeds MC the second bite.

Asra kind of feels like a third wheel.

The Countess seems to sense that, because she turns her attention over to him.

“You must be wondering why I made you come all the way over here,” she begins, and _how did she know? Wow_ , Asra thinks. “I admit part of it was curiosity. It’s always good to meet new people.” She inclines her head towards MC, and MC looks like they’re about to combust again. “As for the rest… Well, you seem to possess some skills I am in dire need of.”

 _Dire need?_ Asra thinks, but instead says, “Skills?”

“Ah, to put it simply—I believe my dreams might be somewhat magical in nature, and as such remedies by our court doctor seem to be ineffective. You might understand.”

Asra sets his teacup down and swirls it absently. “I cannot promise I will be able to help any more than your doctor could, but I will be glad to lend any assistance I can. MC, too, I believe.”

MC croaks in agreement and takes a very long sip of their tea.

“I hope so.” The Countess drains the last of her tea and sets the teacup down resolutely. “I’m afraid we cannot begin today, on account of a prior engagement, but I do hope I can at least introduce you to him today.”

“Introduce?” MC blinks.

“The doctor, Julian Devorak. I trust he might be able to shed some light in my absence.”

MC looks longingly at the bottom of their tea cup, and then sets it down in resignation. Asra does the same. They stand, and the Countess gestures for them to follow.

Their path leads down a side staircase overlooking a complex-looking garden, overflowing with greenery twisted into complicated shapes spotted with bright jewel-toned buds. The smell wafts by even before they step a foot on the ground; heavy, too-sweet and cloying.

The Countess leads them along a pebbled path into the heart of it, pausing for a beat for MC to catch up. Asra follows behind the two of them. He can make out most of the flowers; some are out of season, so he’s curious about how they’re kept flowering, but for the most part he recognizes the cool sweetness of roses and calming spice of spearmint and the heady scent of honeysuckle. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a familiar flower.

 _Dahlia,_ he thinks, and the unease rears up easily as if beckoned. The flower is white, bleeding pink from the edges of the petals, and it makes something in him shrink away instinctively.

He speeds up, to catch up with the Countess and MC ahead.

“Yes, a native species to my home,” the Countess is saying. “I had to arrange for them to be transported here, but they’re blooming quite well, don’t you think?”

“They’re beautiful,” MC murmurs, and neither of them pay any attention to Asra, so he lets the conversation wash over him until they reach a gazebo in the center of the maze-like garden.

“Doctor Devorak,” the Countess coughs, and someone straightens up in a hurry from behind a rose bush, almost knocking a flower right off the stem. “Some visitors.”

“Uh, Nadia—” Dr. Devorak begins, and then catches himself and clears his throat. “My lady.”

The Countess does not comment on the slip of tongue, and instead gestures towards Asra and MC with a smooth flick of her wrist. “The magician, Asra, and his apprentice, MC. Though ‘apprentice’ would be somewhat of an understatement, I must say—ah, Julian Devorak, our doctor. I trust he will treat you nicely.”

Julian Devorak looks up, messy auburn curls catching in the sunlight that has just begun to shine in earnest, and something in Asra jumps.

The Doctor’s eyes are grey, piercing and calm like a sea right before a storm. Though, maybe, they are blue, or perhaps hazel, Asra can’t really tell from the distance. There are too many flowers around them to make a meaningful assessment. His attire is entirely inappropriate for the weather, with far too many layers for one to wear so close to midday out in the sun, and Asra wonders at that for an idle second until the Doctor’s eyes wander over to his own and their gazes catch.

He gets, for a moment, the strange satisfaction of surprise flickering across the Doctor’s face. He gets, for another moment, the strange satisfaction of the Doctor’s eyes widening; then he flicks out his tongue, seemingly in a nervous reflex, and Asra has to look away.

“Julian Devorak, as you already know,” Julian says hastily, and extends a hand out to MC. “Pleasure to meet you.” MC takes it even with the blush suddenly high on the Doctor’s cheeks, and Asra doesn’t know why he suddenly feels angry at that.

Julian is too far to reach a hand out to Asra, but he steps closer. For a moment Asra thinks he might give up, but Julian reaches out to him too. It would be rude of Asra not to accept, so he does. “Likewise, Julian.” he says, before Julian can get a word in edgewise.

That damned blush is still coloring the Doctor’s face, and Asra wonders how and why he’s so annoyed at a person he’s never met before in his life, who has given him no reason to be annoyed.

The Countess clears her throat to get their attention.

“Well, now that introductions have been sorted, I think I will leave you to it. I do expect I will be able to make time tomorrow after tea—?” It’s phrased as a delicate question, and Asra nods his head and glances over at MC.

“MC?”

“We’ll be there,” MC replies, and the Countess smiles.

“I will await. I admit, I’m rather looking forward to our next meeting.”

“Uhsame,” MC says in a hushed breath, and they let the Countess depart.

Then, they’re left in awkward silence.

“So,” Asra begins. “A doctor, huh.”

“You don’t really look like a doctor,” MC adds, and Julian shifts indignantly.

“I have been a doctor to the court of Vesuvia for several years,” he says, a little stiff. “I’m afraid I am still unfamiliar with your profession.”

“Unfamiliar with magic, you mean?” Asra grins at the hint of a scowl on Julian’s face. It smooths out before it can quite take hold.

“Indeed,” Julian admits after a moment. “An oversight that Nadi—Her Ladyship has seemingly found it her duty to see corrected.”

“And I will be doing the correcting, I suppose.” Asra doesn’t know where this urge to _probe_ comes from, this urge to needle at and get a rise out of someone that was a stranger a few minutes ago, but damn if he’s ever been bad at following his instincts, questionable or not.

“Hey, I’m here too,” MC interjects. “Give me some credit.”

Asra glances over at them pouting and smiles. “Partners in crime again, are we?”

“I,” Julian begins, and when Asra looks over he’s blushing _again,_ what the _fuck. “_ I hope you weren’t planning on starting on your correcting today. You see, I have work to get done.”

“Ah, work,” Asra drawls. “Wouldn’t want to keep you from it, Doctor.”

Again, that almost-scowl. And then, worse, a confused-lost-hurt look that fades as quickly, but leaves a slimy trail of guilt across Asra’s feelings.

“Um, right,” Julian agrees. “I’ll get back to it. Do you need anything else?”

“Hey, I thought we were supposed to be finding out things,” MC says. They sound somewhat put-upon to be dismissed.

Julian blinks at them and runs a hand through his hair. It glimmers in the sunlight, with _sweat,_ probably, Asra realizes, and it should be disgusting except he’s kind of fascinated by it, the way the droplets catch like diamonds in brushed copper. “There’s not much I can tell you that Nadia won’t herself,” he admits, wearily. “I have prescribed all the usual remedies for troubled sleep, and nothing seems to have worked so far. I admit I am somewhat at the end of my professional expertise.”

“That’s not very helpful,” Asra comments.

“No, it’s not,” Julian says, and stares at him coolly for a second. “Any other questions?”

“What are those?” MC asks, and Julian seems so taken aback that he rubs his nose with one of his gloves, leaving a dark streak of mud behind.

“These? Uh, orchids,” he says, and gestures to the pile of soil next to his boot. “I’ve been having some trouble getting them to bloom, but I think that’s expected—they’re very out of season now, you see, so I wasn’t expecting much in the first place.”

Asra lets his speech trail off as he steps closer. “May I?”

Julian—that _blush—_ doesn’t protest, though he looks like he wants to, looks like he’s caught in place by Asra’s presence alone. It’s a strange, and powerful, and terrible feeling all at once. Asra wishes he could stop feeling it. He reaches for one of the flowers.

The magic rises easily to the surface. It runs through the soil; cascades down with the sunlight, beats in every pulse of blood through MC’s veins, and most of all, burns _bright bright bright_ at his core. He feels it _everywhere,_ all the time, and it’s no hardship to call it to his fingertips and twist it into delicate strands of intent. He cradles the flower in his palms, letting the magic twine into the stem and down every hair-thin tendril of the roots, anchoring it into the ground with _life_ and _vitality_ and _prosperity._

When he steps back, Julian’s eyes are wide and his lips are parted like he is on the verge of saying something.

“Well?” Asra asks, giving his best eyebrow raise in Julian’s direction.

“How did you—” Julian begins, and then stops. “That was incredible.” The admission feels too rushed to be intended, but genuine in its awe.

To his credit, Julian recovers quickly. His lips press together and eyebrows draw close, and Asra for a second misses that open-wide expression. It fits better on the Doctor’s face, he thinks. Maybe he should do something to bring it back sometime.

“Incredible,” Julian repeats, and this time it sounds like he’s just witnessed a science experiment. “I don’t suppose you can do the rest—?”

“I have, well, actually,” Asra says, “an appointment. So sorry.”

“An appointment,” MC says, flat. They sigh. “I’ll help you, Julian, though I’m not sure if I can do as good a job as Mr. Show-Off over here.”

Asra thinks for a moment about defending himself against that heinous accusation, but refrains. No good to test MC’s patience right when he’s just gotten implicit permission to abscond.

“See you,” he says, with a wiggle of his hand and a nod to MC. Then he does just that; absconds.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> asra u may dasi run run run from ur feelings but ur feelings run faster
> 
> im eyeballing chapter count bc i cannot estimate for shit, but according to my outline that should be about right?? anws, thank u for reading <3 expect next chapter whenever i finish it, or come [personally kick me in the teeth](http://wingtea.tk) if u are at all invested in it being finished faster ;o


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